


The Florist

by carmypen



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-typical language, Comedy, Connor and RK900 meet for the first time, Gen, Hank & Connor being sassy coworkers, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Hank has a smaller role in the story, Post-Canon, Post-Peaceful Revolution, Post-good ending, Sci-Fi, Science Fiction, Slice of Life, Soft!RK900, florist, florist!RK900, flower shop, mundanity, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 03:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20632319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmypen/pseuds/carmypen
Summary: Connor was working at a florist at the corner of Woodward and Grand River Avenue.How and why he was working at a florist he had no idea, but the evidence was standing right there, 10 feet in front of him, smiling contently to himself while he organized a display of tulips for the store’s annual spring fling sale.(Alternatively, Connor meets an RK900 working at a local flower shop and asks some questions)





	The Florist

April 8th, 2039

AM 07:45:20

Connor was working at a florist at the corner of Woodward and Grand River Avenue.

How and why he was working at a florist he had no idea, but the evidence was standing right there, 10 feet in front of him, smiling contently to himself while he organized a display of tulips for the store’s annual spring fling sale.

Connor was watching this double from across the street, sitting in the passenger seat of Hank’s car. Hank had put the car in street parking and dashed into a nearby coffee shop to grab a drink to go. Connor expected him back at any moment and had been using the small bit of free time to play with his calibration coin.

That was when he had spotted his double working at the flower shop.

Although, double wasn’t really the right word for it. A scan revealed that this look-a-like actually had a lot of features that were different from Connor’s. 

He was taller, for starters. And bulkier. The shape of his face was different, but only slightly so. But the biggest difference was in the eyes. They weren’t brown, like Connor’s, but a much colder gray.

If this other Connor hadn’t been organizing tulips and daffodils he probably would have come off as much more intimidating.

Connor knew that he needed to know more. He tried to look up the image of this android in his CyberLife product database (a helpful remnant from his deviant-hunting days) but found nothing. Android identifiers on clothing had been outlawed five months ago, so Connor couldn’t identify him by model or serial number either.

But Connor was built to find answers. And when a remote approach didn’t work that meant it was time to hit the pavement and ask questions.

Moving quickly, Connor opened the door and stepped out of the car. He crossed the street and carefully approached the other Connor.

“Excuse me,” he said, tapping on the other android’s shoulder while he tried to ignore the gnawing anxiety inside him. Connor didn’t know how this android would react, but he was prepared for anything.

“Sorry, we’re not opened yet,” the doppelgänger said, his voice even sounded similar to Connor’s. He turned around to face Connor. His LED flashed red and his eyes widened in recognition. 

But that wasn’t surprising. Connor had become a bit of a minor celebrity due to his work with Jericho. He wasn’t a household name, but it wasn’t uncommon for strangers to recognize him. Especially other androids.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Connor said, relying on the scripted politeness that was part of his social relations program. “My name is Connor, I’m an android behavioral consultant with the DPD. I couldn’t help but notice that we share a physical similarity, and I wanted to know what model you were.”

“Oh, I’m Connor, too,” the other android blurted. His LED then flashed red again. “Er..I mean--I used to be named Connor. I, uh, I changed it though. I didn’t really like it--N-n-not that there’s anything wrong with that name. It’s a good name. Good for you. Just, uh, not for me. I go by Bryan now. With a y.”

Bryan then gave a start. The plastic flower pot he had been holding dropped to the ground, causing dirt to fly everywhere. A bunch of pink and yellow tulips flopped lamely against his feet.

“I’m sorry!” He exclaimed. “About the flowers. I mean—yes the flowers but also your question. You asked for my model number. It’s RK900.” 

Bryan began desperately picking up the fallen flower pot. While he did this, Connor took a moment to run a search on the model number and came up with nothing. Which meant two things: Bryan was either a custom model or a model that had been developed after Connor had gone deviant and cut his ties with CyberLife.

Given the physical similarity, the latter was most likely.

“I don’t recognize that number,” Connor said as he kneeled down to help Bryan with the flower pot.

“Nobody ever does,” Bryan admitted. “My model was brand new. We weren’t even on the market when The Second Liberation happened”. 

The Second Liberation had been a national movement that had happened 3 months ago. After declaring androids as legal citizens with the same rights as humans, it had been revealed that the U.S. government and several international corporations were still commissioning androids from CyberLife. As well as still using unpaid android labor. There had been widespread public outrage and nationwide protests.

“Uh, thanks for your help,” Bryan said, once Connor had finished helping him pick up the flower pot. “I’m really sorry about all of that.” 

“It wasn’t a problem,” Connor said reassuringly. He was watching Bryan’s stress levels and he could see that they were unusually high. He hoped he wasn’t being too pushy. But Connor still needed to understand what Bryan was. For his own sake.

“I know,” Bryan said. He looked away and ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to be so jumpy. It’s just not everyday I meet a celebrity. Especially a big hero like you.”

Connor’s shoulders tensed. He got this reaction pretty frequently, too. It was the end result of 70 percent of his encounters with strangers. Connor wasn’t a national celebrity the way Markus was, but there were plenty of people, especially androids, who recognized him as the one who had led the march of androids out of CyberLife Tower. Connor understood that the people who praised him for this were just trying to be appreciative. But it still felt wrong to him. He hadn’t been trying to be a hero at the time. He had just felt horribly guilty for being the deviant hunter.

“I’m not much of a hero,” Connor said. Both his social relations program and Hank had told him that it would be better overall if he just graciously accepted these kind of compliments, but he never could. “I already had access to CyberLife Tower so--”

“No, that’s not what I’m talking about,” Bryan blurted out. He then looked completely mortified. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt you--”

“It’s fine,” Connor said, keeping his voice steady and calm. The programming that Connor normally used for soothing crime victims was turning out to be helpful for talking with Bryan.

“Right,” Bryan took a moment to compose himself--his LED going from red to yellow-- before he continued. “Thanks. Uh, what I meant was the Liberation Report. You were the lead investigator for it,” He hesitated again. “Right?”

“Yes,” Connor said. Genuinely surprised. The Liberation Report had been Connor’s major contribution to the Second Liberation. He had passed on opportunities to go to public rallies or visit political offices with Jericho’s leaders. Instead, Connor had led a Jericho-sponsored investigation team that had compiled a 300-page document that had eventually become the Liberation Report. The document had listed every government agency and corporation that had still owned or had commissioned androids after November 12, 2038.

It had been important work. It was one of the things Connor was most proud of. But it wasn’t something most people knew about. Most people remembered the speech Markus gave when they had unveiled the report. It was generally considered to be more interesting than reading through the actual document itself.

“I was one of the androids you guys freed,” Bryan said. He looked embarrassed. Or at least more embarrassed than he had before. “The Liberation Report saved my life.”

Bryan’s statement hit Connor like a wrecking ball. Even now, Connor still lived with the guilt of what he had done as CyberLife’s deviant hunter. But hearing that he had done something--anything-- that had helped another android. That at least helped to ease the guilt. If only just a little.

But something still didn’t add up. With his perfect android memory Connor could recall every android that had been listed on the Second Liberation Report. But not once had the model number RK900 been listed anywhere. He had never heard of that model before. Although if it had been recently commissioned that would explain why. Connor was a prototype. It was likely Bryan was the version of his model meant for the commercial market.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Connor said lamely. He wasn’t sure how else to approach this situation. But he knew he had to get to the bottom of the mystery.

“Where...,” Connor hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Where do you come from? What did you do before you deviated?”

Connor noticed that Bryan shot a quick, nervous glance back toward the flower shop before he answered. There was a woman that was eyeing Bryan suspiciously through a window. A facial recognition scan revealed that her name was Angela Device and she was the shop’s manager. This made her Bryan’s boss. And the look on her face made it clear that she wasn’t happy that Bryan wasn’t doing his work. Connor was going to need to wrap up this conversation.

“Well…I moved here from D.C. a few months ago.” Bryan said, his speech noticeably more quick, and, somehow, more panicked. “I, er, I didn’t do anything before. I went deviant right after I was activated for the first time.”

This registered something familiar to Connor. An order form from one of CyberLife’s sales records that registered the sale of 200,000 unspecified androids to the U.S. State Department. Bryan must have been part of that order.

“Were you at the Harry S. Truman building when you deviated?” Connor asked as he internally sorted through all the CyberLife sales documents that were still saved in his memory.

“Uh, yeah,” Bryan said. He had glanced back at the flower shop again. Angela had disappeared from the window and Connor wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad thing.

“After I got my citizenship papers I couldn’t stay in D.C.” Bryan continued. “They say Detroit is the best place in the country for androids, so I used all my compensation money to move over here.”

“Are there more of you?” Connor asked. “Where are they now?”

Bryan opened his mouth to answer and then stopped when he saw Angela step outside of the florist shop. She gave Bryan a laser focused glare that made Connor’s internal temperature drop by 3 degrees.

Bryan leaped toward the group of flower pots he had been organizing. He began sorting them as if his life depended on it.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He apologized two more times before continuing. “Uh, there are more of us. I’m just not sure how many. There were 55 other Connors in the unit I was shipped with. Most of them stayed in D.C. I know there are others, but I don’t know where they are.”

Connor nodded, his thoughts racing. There were more RK900s. More androids like himself. Out in the world. They could be anywhere. And they were all individuals living there own lives. And they were all as different from each other as Connor was from Bryan. 

“The Connors that stayed in D.C.,” Connor said. He was speaking to try and steady his own thoughts. He couldn’t see his own LED, but he knew it must be flashing yellow right now. “What are they doing now? Do you know how to get in contact with them?”

“Uh, well,” Bryan’s expression showed traces of shame. “I do have their contact information. And,uh, I’d be happy to give it to you. They all appreciate what you did. Really. Most of them are doing the kind of work we were built for. Security. Private investigation, criminal profiling--er--well, you know all about that.”

Connor did know. And it only brought up more questions. What kind of missions did these other Connors have? Now that they were living for themselves? 

“But not you?” Connor said. 

Bryan shook his head. He placed another flower pot down and stood up straight. He showed a kind of confidence that so far Connor had not seen from him. “I know what we were built to do,” he said. “But I don’t think I could ever do that. I like plants. And I’m renting one of those citizen plots at the Urban Farms. I’m working here now. But I’m--I’m hoping to start my own business eventually.” 

Bryan looked at Connor expectantly. And it was then that Connor realized that Bryan was looking to him for some kind of validation. And it was strange. Even without scanning for technology specs Connor knew that Bryan was more advanced than him. What he was capable of was probably far beyond Connor’s ability. It made Connor incredibly curious, but also afraid to ask. Because he might not want to hear the answer. 

But Bryan wasn’t even interested in any of those abilities. He had his own mission. One that CyberLife would have never imagined for him.

And that made Connor happy. Bryan had never been forced to accomplish a mission under penalty of being shut down. He wasn’t forced to hunt down his own people. Or feel like a tool used for someone else’s benefit. The way Connor had. He was free. And in a way, it made Connor a little bit more free, too.

“That’s good,” Connor said. “You have your own mission.”

Bryan gave a small, sad-sounding chuckle. “And I always accomplish my mission,” he said. 

Connor and Bryan then made eye contact for a moment. And Connor felt something pass between them. Not any kind of digital connection. But an emotional one. A sense of mutual understanding that could only happen between two people who had suffered in the same way. 

“Connor!” Hank’s voice called from across the street. He was standing next to the car, holding a paper cup of steaming coffee and looking just slightly more alive than he had earlier that morning. “Let’s go! We’re going to be late.”

“Bryan!” Another voice also called. It was Angela. “Get back to work. We need to have all of those displays set up before we open!”

“Coming, Lieutenant!” Connor yelled back. He turned to Bryan, who was apologizing profusely to Angela.

“Thank you for talking to me,” Connor said quickly. “I’m...I’m glad your happy.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Bryan said. He bent down to pick up another flowerpot and then nearly dropped it. “I’m,uh, I'm glad you’re happy, too.” Something about the way he said it, even as a statement, hung in the air like a question. Bryan quickly placed the flowerpot on one of the displays and then stretched out a hand to Connor. He then realized it was covered in dirt and then quickly brushed it off his uniform before stretching it back out again.

“The other Connors,” he said. “I’ll give you their contact info. I mean--If you want--”

Connor nodded and took Bryan’s hand. They both removed their artificial skin up to their wrists. There was a second where data passed between them and then suddenly Connor had a list of names and phone numbers. All of them new versions of himself that he would get to meet.

Connor gave Bryan one last nod goodby. He dashed across the street and hopped into the car. Hank turned the ignition and sped down the street leaving Bryan and the florist shop far behind them.

“Who was that you were talking to?” Hank asked, after they had driven for a few minutes.

A wry smile crossed Connor’s face. 

“It was me.” He answered in a matter a fact tone.

Hank gave Connor the “look.” They had been working together long enough now that Hank had several of these. This particular one was for when Connor answered a question in a way that meant Hank had to ask more questions. Hank said it was annoying, but one of the things Connor had come to realize was that he enjoyed teasing Hank at any opportunity he could get.

“Really?” Hank said, taking the bait. “Does that mean he’s also a pain in the ass?”

“No, he seemed pleasant enough. As far as I know I’m the only Connor model that’s a pain in the ass.”

“Cool. He’s not like that other asshole, is he? The one who held me at gunpoint in CyberLife Tower?”

“No,” Connor said. “He moved here from Washington D.C. He wants to start his own farming business.”

“Sounds like you’re doing just fine for yourself, Connor,” Hank joked. A smile appeared on his lips.

Connor smiled, too.

“You know what, Lieutenant? I think you’re right.”


End file.
